Keep It Under Your Hat
by windscryer
Summary: It was never about the bow-hunting. That was just a convenient excuse. Wee!chesters.


**Disclaimer:** They'd be using these damn bow-hunting skills ALL. THE. TIME. If I was in charge. :P

A comment!fic from the spnquotefic community on LJ. Damn you, tahirire and blacklid. *smishes* Crossposted like WHOAS.

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Dean just didn't understand.

Sam frowned and pulled his fingers back to his cheek, holding his breath like Dean had said to.

Sam would have tried to explain it to him but he didn't have the words and, well, Dean would have called him 'Samantha' if he'd even attempted, probably.

He let go and the bolt flew, embedding itself into the tree trunk with a THWACK that startled a bird out of the branches above.

"Good job, Sammy!"

Sam flashed a smile and bent to retrieve another arrow.

It wasn't about the bow-hunting or the soccer. Not really. It was about Dad not caring about what was important to Sam.

And about Dean caring too much about what was important to Dad.

"Three more bullseyes and you'll have beaten my record, little brother. Think you can do that?"

Sam didn't mind spending time with his brother. He knew how lucky he was that Dean still _wanted_ to spend time with him instead of with friends—and not hiding it under the excuse of "Dad said I have to watch the brat" like some of his friends' older siblings.

Sam flicked his fingers free and buried another shot in the innermost ring of the target.

"Whew! Two more, Sammy! Don't let that make you nervous, though." Dean winked at him and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He didn't even mind the bow-hunting. He was a kid and a guy so, yeah, shooting things was fun. Using real, honest-to-goodness sharp weapons that could injure or _kill_ was just icing on the proverbial cake. How many kids his age got to do that? Not many.

(It would have been more awesome if he could have _told_ anyone about it. Bragging rights that were smothered under "need to know" were pretty useless.)

He lined up his next shot, inhaled and exhaled, then held it.

No, the problem he had was that Dean was so bent on doing it because _Dad_ wanted him to. And the whole time all he talked about was how important a skill it was for hunting, and how Dad had gone on this hunt once... and how if Sam kept improving, he'd be allowed to come on the "good" hunts with Dean and Dad.

Sam's mouth tightened into a frown and his fingers responded by tightening a little bit more than they should have before releasing.

The arrow landed right on the line of the bullseye.

Sam huffed in frustration that Dean misinterpreted.

"Aw, it's okay, Sammy. It's close enough. I'll count it," he said with a magnanimous—if somewhat smug—grin.

Sam just grabbed his last arrow.

He didn't want to go on "good" hunts or "bad" hunts or "ANY" hunts with his brother and father.

Why couldn't they just be obsessed with bow-hunting to win a badge or trophy like every other father and his sons out there? There had to be a Boy Scout badge for that, right?

Well, maybe not the _hunting_ part of it, but the archery bit.

Sam really, really wanted to explain all of this to Dean.

He aimed, managed his breathing, and let go.

The bolt squeezed in between its brethren to bury itself dead center in the middle of the ring.  
Dean whooped and crowed like he was the one who'd just gotten the record-breaking score. Sam's lips quirked slightly and he shook his head as Dean pounded his back and congratulated him.

Now he just had to figure out _how_ to explain it.

But then Dad came over from where he'd apparently been watching them in silence—always in silence once he'd given the initial instructions, never with the steady stream of encouragement and reinforcement like Dean—and patted him on the shoulder and said he did a good job, sharing a look of pride with his oldest.

Dean ducked his head to hide his expression from Dad, but Sam was short enough to see the smile that split his face and the flush that pinked his cheeks.

The praise had been for Sam. It had reflected back on Dean who had been teaching him, but it was never directly given. That was how it always was and it was just one more thing about this that bothered Sam.

But that look on his brother's face was enough that Sam didn't have the heart to say anything about where his thoughts had been wandering to.

He just smiled at Dean, nodding his thanks, and Dean punched him in the shoulder, accused him of cheating, and promised him a trip to the store for a movie rental that weekend for breaking Dean's record.

Dean went to dig the arrows out while Dad started in on his post-training debriefing—mostly consisting of all the ways Sam had screwed up—and Sam made his expression attentive and let the words wash over him, nodding occasionally even as he wondered if someday he'd have the courage to tell his father how he _really_ felt about bow-hunting.

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Review, plz&thx.


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